


Stepping Out With A Memory

by SherlockWolf



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, No Dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:49:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4444082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockWolf/pseuds/SherlockWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve frequents an old restaurant in Brooklyn that reminds him of Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stepping Out With A Memory

     On Friday nights when he had nothing else to be doing, Steve would go out to a small wine and dine restaurant for a late night dinner. The place was small and cozy, and it reminded Steve of Bucky. There wasn’t something specific that led him to this conclusion. Perhaps it was the atmosphere of the place: full of energy, spunk, laughter, and pure pleasure in life. Or, maybe it was the decorations. The wallpaper was a sepia brown, the furniture and the floor were all wood, the lighting was dull, and there was a vintage mimic radio in the corner where Frank Sinatra’s voice serenaded the room.

    Steve always sat at a table for two near the old glass window so that he could both watch the world inside and out. He would order a glass of wine, one he and Buck had never imagined they could afford but had always wanted to try. He tried a new wine every Friday, though some he ordered more than once. He applied the same rule to the menu. There wasn’t a single dish that had yet to disappoint him.

    Steve took his time enjoying his meal, savoring the delicious food he’d never imagined he would get to eat in his life. He would watch the people pass by the window, or by his table, and take in little details about them that had him imagining the complexity of their lives. It had been a habit he’d fallen into as an artist and had never been able to shake. If he were being honest, he didn’t want to. Bringing people down to human level—giving them the details of a soulful and conscious life—always made Steve feel humble. And as Captain America, he valued humility.

    In the comfort of the restaurant, Steve would think about Bucky, too. He recalled their adventures as children: running through the streets of Brooklyn and New York City, dodging cars, carts, and carriages as they played. He remembered playing in Bucky’s house: hide and seek with his sister, Rebecca, or sitting down for a meal with Bucky’s mother, sister and Steve’s own mother. He and Bucky were always so antsy to go play again, and sometimes he would laugh to himself at how much their mothers scolded them for wiggling like worms at the table.

    He thought of their time together as teenagers. Bucky was such a hit with the ladies, and it often made Steve a bit jealous of how much attention his best friend paid them. Aside from girls, though, he and Bucky had just as many adventures as they’d had as children. One night, they’d taken Bucky’s mother’s car all the way out to Jersey, just for the fun of it. There were no girls to impress, no fathers to anger, to rules to break. Just two best friends spending time in each other’s company.

    And of course, there was the time when Steve moved in with Bucky. Sarah had passed, and for Steve, it was hard to find work that paid enough for him to support his own rent much less the necessities of food and water. There was still a bit of money coming in for him from his father’s military pay, but it wasn’t going to last long. His paintings rarely sold, and the newspaper stand didn’t pay much. So, when Bucky had offered for what was likely the tenth time, Steve gave in and moved in.

    That had turned out to be the best decision of his life. Bucky’s apartment was a smidgen closer to the newsstand than Steve’s had been, and the ten minute difference of a walk made a significant difference in the winter. Not to mention, with Steve pitching in, they were able to afford a heater that kept them warm in the cold months.

    Steve missed those few years of living with Bucky desperately. Besides missing his mother, they were likely the best years of his life. He got to spend more time with his best friend than he ever thought he would, and it brought them closer than either could have imagined.

    One of Steve’s favourite memories had been the night they had admitted to being in love with one another. Bucky had been fast asleep on their mangled couch while Steve sat across in their maimed armchair and drawn Bucky’s resting form. About an hour into the drawing, Bucky had woken because of some commotion between their next door neighbors. He caught Steve red handed because Steve had been looking down at his drawing at the same time that Bucky turned his head and looked over at Steve. The conversation that followed landed them both in the chair, with Bucky practically sprawled out on Steve, who was a flustered mess as he tried to hide his drawing. It was to no avail; Bucky yanked it from him, held it far out of his reach, and admired it so much that the words _God, do I love you, Steve_ slipped from his mouth.

    From there life had slid downhill.

    Steve’s far less fond memories came a few months after that, and when he was at his Friday night hangout, he went as far out of his way not to think about them as he could. He had no desire to ruin the atmosphere of the place. Nevertheless, the occasional memory of losing Bucky would rise from the depths to the forefront of his mind. He’d lost him three times, and none of those memories were fun to remember. The first was saying goodbye when Bucky had left for war. Steve hadn’t known then whether or not he would see Bucky again. He was afraid that he was going to lose his best friend to the war. The second time he lost Bucky, he had been certain that he had lost him to the war. Steve had never expected to lose him a third time. But when he did, Steve was confident that he would return, so long as he found him before anyone else.

    After Steve had learned Bucky was alive, his Friday night ritual changed slightly. He ordered two glasses of wine, one for himself and one for his partner who was no doubt finding his way back to Steve with every passing moment.

    Steve was convinced that Bucky hadn’t returned to Hydra after he’d learned that he’d been found dragged up on the shore of the lake. When Steve had been drowning, he had barely felt the grasp of a metal hand before he blacked out. He was sure that Bucky had saved him, and that was all the evidence he needed to believe that his friend was going to remember their life together before the madness of the past few decades broke them apart.

    Steve never wasted the wine he ordered. But he never stopped ordering two glasses.

    In the end, it was worth it.

    When Bucky did indeed come back to him, Steve took him out to his favourite restaurant that reminded him of his best friend. Bucky fell in love with the place instantly, just as Steve knew he would. They sat at Steve’s table for two by the window. Steve ordered two of the wine and the dish he favored most.

    Then they sat, lovers reunited, and remembered their lives as boys, as teens, as adults, and as super soldiers, while Frank Sinatra serenaded them in the background.

_end_

**Author's Note:**

> Titled after and inspired by this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuOuxhQVpok


End file.
